THE WORLD'S WANDERERS.

I.

TELL me, thou star, whose wings of light
Speed thee in thy fiery flight,

In what cavern of the night

Will thy pinions close now?

II.

Tell me, moon, thou pale and gray
Pilgrim of heaven's homeless way,
In what depth of night or day
Seekest thou repose now?

III.

Weary wind, who wanderest
Like the world's rejected guest,
Hast thou still some secret nest

On the tree or billow?

1820.

TO THE MOON.

ART thou pale for weariness

Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless

Among the stars that have a different birth, -
And ever changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?

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There were sweet dreams in the night
Of Time long past:

And, was it sadness or delight,

Each day a shadow onward cast

Which made us wish it yet might last -
That Time long past.

III.

There is regret, almost remorse,

For Time long past.

ΙΟ

'Tis like a child's beloved corse

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A father watches, till at last

Beauty is like remembrance, cast

From Time long past.

1820.

SONNET.

YE hasten to the grave! What seek ye there,

Ye restless thoughts and busy purposes

Of the idle brain, which the world's livery wear?
O thou quick heart which pantest to possess
All that pale Expectation feigneth fair!

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Thou vainly curious mind which wouldest guess
Whence thou didst come, and whither thou must go,
And all that never yet was known would know
Oh, whither hasten ye, that thus ye press,

With such swift feet life's green and pleasant path,
Seeking, alike from happiness and woe,

A refuge in the cavern of gray death?

O heart, and mind, and thoughts, what thing do you
Hope to inherit in the grave below?

DIRGE FOR THE YEAR.

I.

ORPHAN hours, the year is dead,–
Come and sigh, come and weep!
Merry hours, smile instead,

For the year is but asleep.

See, it smiles as it is sleeping,
Mocking your untimely weeping.

II.

As an earthquake rocks a corse
In its coffin in the clay,

So White Winter, that rough nurse,
Rocks the death-cold year to-day;

Solemn hours! wail aloud

For your mother in her shroud.

III.

As the wild air stirs and sways

The tree-swung cradle of a child,

So the breath of these rude days

Rocks the year :-be calm and mild,

1820.

January gray is here,

Like a sexton by her grave;
February bears the bier,

March with grief doth howl and rave,
And April weeps-but, O, ye hours,
Follow with May's fairest flowers.

January 1, 1821.

TIME.

UNFATHOMABLE Sea! whose waves are years,
Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woe
Are brackish with the salt of human tears!

Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow
Claspest the limits of mortality!

And sick of prey, yet howling on for more, Vomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore; Treacherous in calm, and terrible in storm, Who shall put forth on thee, Unfathomable Sea?

TO NIGHT.

I.

SWIFTLY walk o'er the western wave,

Spirit of Night!

Out of the misty eastern cave,

Where all the long and lone daylight,

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IO

1821.

Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,
Which make thee terrible and dear,—
Swift be thy flight!

II.

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,

Star in-wrought!

Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day;
Kiss her until she be wearied out,
Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand-
Come, long sought!

III.

When I arose and saw the dawn,

I sighed for thee;

When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turned to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,

I sighed for thee.

IV.

Thy brother Death came, and cried,

Wouldst thou me?

Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,

Murmured like a noon-tide bee,

Shall I nestle near thy side?

Wouldst thou me?. And I replied,

No, not thee!

V.

Death will come when thou art dead,

Soon, too soon

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